How beau­te­ous were the marks di­vine,
That in Thy meek­ness used to shine;
That lit Thy lone­ly path­way, trod
In won­drous love, O Lamb of God!

Oh! who like Thee, so calm, so bright;
So pure, so made to live in light?
Oh, who like Thee did ev­er go
So pa­tient through a world of woe?

Oh, who like Thee so hum­bly bore
The scorn, the scoffs of men, be­fore?
So meek, for­giv­ing, god­like, high,
So glo­ri­ous in hu­mil­ity?

And all Thy life’s un­chang­ing years,
A man of sor­rows and of tears,
The cross, where all our sins were laid,
Upon Thy bend­ing shoul­ders weighed.

E’en death, which sets the pri­son­er free,
Was pain, and scoff, and scorn to Thee;
Yet love through all Thy tor­ture glowed,
And mer­cy with Thy life­blood flowed.

Oh, in Thy light be mine to go,
Illumining all my way of woe!
And give me ev­er on the road
To trace Thy foot­steps, Son of God!